9.13.2015

The ones that are hardest to read...

I enjoy rereading my old blog posts... I am either overly sentimental or full of myself - I can't figure out which.

But there are posts that I can not read. There are ones I start, get halfway through before hitting a loaded sentence, and quickly click the X in the corner. There are others that by just reading the title I know not to go there. And there are others that I don't read based on the month in which they were written.

They are of course the posts about Talmage.

Grief is an interesting thing. In the beginning, it was crippling; however, grief and I had an understanding. I would feel the emotions - I would acknowledge the emotions - I would write the emotions. There was pain - pain that was always there, underlining everything I did, but I expected it. A week after losing Talmage, my mom and I were running some needed errands. We were hungry so we stopped for lunch at a sandwich place. My mom ordered first and offered to pay so Mr. Sandwich turned to me and asked "What would you like?" I wasn't ready to order. A panic came over me and all I could think was, "I am standing here, days after I buried my precious son, and you are asking me what kind of sandwich I would like." HOW IS THIS HAPPENING? How can life still be this normal? How can I pick wheat or white or mayo or mustard or toasted or not when my son just died. It was the hardest sandwich I ever ordered and I cried as I ate it. That is grief strait out of the gate. It is everywhere and all-consuming. It clings to you and taints all that you say and do and feel and eat for those first few months. And you come to expect this.

Now I am coming up on 5 years of grief. It is no longer crippling; however, I feel like the understanding we once had is no longer there. I feel the emotions - if I am not completely overwhelmed with whatever antics life has given me in that moment, I will acknowledge them but sometimes I don't. And I rarely write the emotions anymore. Anything I write is too much - too over the top for the audience and sadly lacking for me. How is it that it is harder now for me talk about him then when it happened? I tired to explain it the other day to someone when I said, "Sometimes I think about how he is not here and all I want to do is punch a hole in the wall but I can't because you can't get away with punching a hole in your wall 5 years after the fact." 5 days it would be expected, 5 weeks it would be understandable, 5 months it would be acceptable, but 5 years - you're not allowed.

So I don't punch walls and I don't cry over sandwiches and I don't write the hard moments - but I still miss him.

3 comments:

Mom said there were a few sets of twins in her ward and I figured that you probably felt lots of emotions sitting there seeing them and wondering what it would have/should have been like for you. I'm very sorry for your loss and can't even imagine how hard it is for you. I hope you feel you can talk about it to me anytime. I love you.

I was just looking at a picture of my niece this morning and wondering how often her mom still feels moments of intense grief (13 yrs later). I miss her and I'm not even her mother. I can't even imagine.

But I do hope you write a book someday. Put me on the top of your list for buyers because if it's anything like your blog posts, I want a copy a.s.a.p.

Much love to you now and always. When you feel those intense moments of grief, just know you have family, friends and of course, a father in heaven who are all there to support you.

I know this comment is "a day late and a dollar short"...but I can't stop thinking about your post. When I originally read it, I wanted to say something, but I couldn't decide what was best to say. Today I read an article about grief and read how saying nothing at all is worse than saying something. It made me think of you. So I just wanted to say I'm so sorry. Thanks for always sharing. I love reading about you and your family.